


Strange Human Mating Rituals

by liionne, velvetjinx



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Dumpster Cat Adoption, Fluff and Smut, Frenemies Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson, Infinity War either hasn't happened yet or isn't happening at all, M/M, Millennial Bucky Barnes, Nude Photos, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Sexting, but bucky still got to spend time in Wakanda with his goats, exasperated Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 19:18:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19026262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liionne/pseuds/liionne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetjinx/pseuds/velvetjinx
Summary: Bucky doesn't have a job. Steve assures Bucky that there's no pressure for him to do anything; Steve's army back pay and his avenging days mean they're taken care of. Bucky's a kept man, and whilst he loves that, he isn't much of a house husband. So he goes out, and that's how it happens. He's sitting on the subway when he sees the magazine, garishly pink with a woman flashing big pearly white teeth on the front cover. He can't help himself. Letting himself do things he wants to do is one of the things the Wakandan healers had taught him, so maybe it's a step in the right direction.The magazine turns out to be a little less factual than Bucky’s usual reading material, but he loves it. He reads an interview with some actress he's never seen before, then an article on how to get the perfect brows (and he looks up at his reflection in the subway window then to find that his brows are-- what does the magazine say? on fleek already), and then he gets to something interesting.Sexting 101: What your man really wants to hearNow that is something Bucky wants to know more about.





	Strange Human Mating Rituals

**Author's Note:**

> It's only been a few weeks since I picked up this pinch hit, but it feels like it's been a year in the making, and so here it finally is: my first contribution for the Captain America Reverse Big Bang!
> 
> Straight up I want to thank **velvetjinx** for the amazing art that inspired me so much I had an entire plot in my head about 5 seconds after seeing it, and for being so lovely and supportive over the last few weeks! Also big big thanks to **entigral** for beta-ing the work and for Americanising all of my little Britishisms. The amount of work put into beta-ing this fic was insane and I couldn't be more grateful!
> 
> Hope everyone enjoys, and one note of warning: there's some NSFW art embedded in the story, so if you're on the subway or something, might want to keep that in mind ;)

 

Steve leads Bucky up the stairs of the Manhattan apartment building, and he wishes it felt more like a home. He’s only been in it a few times since the move to the capital, and it feels unfamiliar, too foreign, but Bucky had asked very politely not to go back to DC. Steve couldn’t say no to him, and as it turns out, he didn’t much want to go back either. 

Steve opens the door to his apartment and steps inside, taking a deep breath. The place is quiet, dark, a little dusty - he briefly wishes he had gotten someone to come over this morning, or at least the day before, to open the blinds and let the sun in, air it out, clean the dust away, but he hadn’t thought about it. This place had been the nearest thing to a home he’d had when he’d come out of the ice, an escape from the chaos of Avengers Tower, somewhere he could sit and process the passage of 70 years in peace, but  it had sat empty since the move to DC. His name was still on the lease in case he needed a New York stop-over, and whilst someone came around every once and a while to make sure the place didn’t rot, he knew it had been a week, maybe a little longer, since anyone had stopped by. It had totally slipped his mind, mostly because he was too busy thinking about Bucky, thinking about getting him back to the US, thinking about their future. Always thinking about Bucky.

He doesn’t want to bring Bucky back to somewhere cold and dark and dusty, though. He should’ve thought about it.

He stands just inside the apartment, between the open plan kitchen and living room, and he curses himself internally. He should’ve thought, he should’ve made this place more of a home, he should have tried harder—

Bucky looks around, first at the living room on his left, and then to the kitchen on his right. “This is where you live?” He asks, nothing but a lilt of curiosity in his voice.

Steve cringes. “Yeah.” He pauses. A beat. “I should’ve gotten someone in, I didn’t—“

“The living room’s the size of our old place in Brooklyn.” Bucky turns and looks at Steve, some kind of disgruntled wonder in his eyes, like he’s amazed by what he’s seeing and kind of pissed off too. “You’ve been rattling around in here all by yourself?”

Steve let’s go of a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, and his lips tick up in a smile. He reaches out for Bucky’s hand, and tangles their fingers together. “Until now, yeah.”

Bucky looks around again, and snorts softly. “Well alright, Rockefeller.” He replies, easy as anything, but he tugs Steve closer as he says it, until they’re almost chest to chest and Bucky has to tip his head back a little to look at him. “Show me the rest of your mansion.”

Steve is more than happy to oblige.

~*~

 

Bucky needs someone to help him assimilate back into a normal life; Steve keeps trying to tell every governmental official who spews that line at them that Bucky has been in recovery for a year now, and he doesn’t need to assimilate back into normal life, because he’s already done it. Admittedly a rural Wakandan village isn’t the same as Manhattan, but Bucky had already put the time into being a person again. The trigger words were removed, he’d had the arm replaced by Shuri and some very excited scientists, and then he’d spent the rest of his time getting used to being a person again. To being a part of a community.

Agent-whoever-he-was had listened to that speech, blinked once (way too robotically - did the Pentagon have cyborgs?), and then said. “He needs to be cleared by a therapist before he can leave your apartment on his own, Captain Rogers, and that’s non negotiable.”

Fortunately for Steve, they’d let him choose the therapist.

Unfortunately for the government, Steve’s a sneaky son of a bitch.

His plan, though, needs to be accepted by Bucky to work, and when Steve leads Sam into the kitchen, he has a sinking feeling that Bucky is more likely to accept having his eyebrows plucked off hair by hair than accepting Steve’s proposal.

“What’s _he_ doing here?” Bucky asks, his eyes narrowing as he jerks his chin towards Sam.

Sam jabs a finger at Bucky from across the kitchen island. "You're lucky Captain America's best friend--" Bucky snorts, but Sam continues. "--is a licensed medical health professional. Your ass is mine, Barnes."

"My ass belongs to no one." Bucky spits, and then pauses, looking at Steve. "'cept you."

Steve tries not to smile too dopily as he scuffs the ground with the toe of his shoes. 

"Like I wanna think about that. I'm adding another day to your probation."

"Sam," Steve sighs, suddenly back to being exasperated. Funny how quickly their bickering could bring him out of a moment. "You're meant to be the responsible one."

"Hey!" Bucky cries, and Steve momentarily raises his eyes to the ceiling, wondering at what point babysitting two children became his life. He steps forward into the kitchen, leaning against the table where Bucky sits. 

"They won't clear you unless someone licensed clears you first." Steve says, his voice soft; Bucky knows this already, of course, because Steve's loathe to keep anything from him, big or small. He just needs a reminded after the affront that is Sam, apparently. "Sam's licensed, and he's a _friend_." Steve says the word slowly and carefully so that it hopefully penetrates Bucky's thick skull. "Someone we can know. Someone we can trust."

"Yeah, you maybe." Bucky mutters, just loud enough for Sam to hear and scoff at. 

Steve reaches out to settle his hand over Bucky's, meeting his gaze and holding it; he's serious about this. Bucky needs to know that he's serious. "It's not for long." He glances at Sam, but only briefly. "And after that, you're a free man."

Bucky looks at him for a long moment, gaze flickering a little like he's searching Steve's eyes for something deeper, but then he gives a huff, back to being petulant, and pouts.

"Fine." He says. "But you're making it up to me." He adds, looking up at Steve out of the corner of his eyes, and Steve grins.

"I think I can manage that." He says, leaning down to press a kiss to Bucky's temple.

"Am I that hard to be around?" Sam asks, throwing up his hands. "There's people who'd pay good money for my company, you know. I'm slumming it hanging round with you assholes."

Steve walks up to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I like having you around." He says, as if it's any consolation.

"Captain America likes having me around," Sam says, having to rock up on his tiptoes just a little to look pointedly over Steve's shoulder at Bucky. "You hear that?"

There's no audible response except Sam snorting, so Steve can only assume that Bucky stuck his tongue out at him, or maybe flipped him the bird, or maybe both. Either way, Steve leaves them to it; the sooner they get started, the sooner it's over, for everyone involved.

 

~*~

 

Being cooped up in Steve’s apartment is going fine for Bucky, right up until it isn't. 

In the first few weeks after his return from Wakanda, spending 90% of his time indoors at Steve's place is alright. First of all, it still feels like a fucking mansion - the living room-kitchen area alone was bigger than their old apartment in Park Slope. Whatever had happened to that building? Bucky makes a note in the little pocket-sized notebook Steve had given him for exactly that purpose, and then he goes back to reading about the moon landings.

He doesn't have as much to catch up on as Steve did, mostly because Bucky wasn't continuously frozen for 70 years - he was frozen most of the time, sure, but there were bits and pieces of the world that he saw over the last seventy years. The longer he'd gone without being wiped, the more that had come back to him, old synapses firing to life after years, sometimes decades. There are things he knows and things he doesn't; he remembers the Korean War, but not the Civil Rights Act. He remembers the Kennedy Assassination, but not the moon landings. It's no surprise to him that all he remembers are the violent things, not the good things, the extraordinary things - why would HYDRA have exposed him to anything that wasn't violence? 

Still, Bucky doesn't dwell on that bullshit, because he still has a ton of homework to do. Luckily Steve has done all this before. His apartment is a modern day Library of Alexandria, bookshelves in the living room and the bedroom overflowing with a varied catalogue of books, and then there was the closet. The day after Bucky had come home for the first time, Steve had opened up the closet, hastily leapt out of the way when a pile of books fell off the top shelf, and then stepped back to show Bucky that the closet was full of even _more_ books. 

Steve had rubbed the back of his neck, looking bashfully, and Bucky had sighed. “You got something against e-readers?”

“I like books.” Steve had argued. He’d always been at ease with a pencil and paper, that was true, but this was… 

Bucky had sighed. "'m gonna get eye strain." He'd complained, looking at the mountain of books.

"You'd look good with glasses." Steve had returned, giving him that crooked smile that made Bucky's knees go a little weak. 

"I know." He'd replied, because he did, and because he didn't want to deal with that smile, huffing as he'd reached into the closet for one of the books.

Not that the books had lasted long - Bucky felt restless. Antsy. The longer he read the more his mind wandered and he realised he hadn't turned the page in forty minutes. He doesn't know how Steve did it - Bucky can't even go on the internet because he inevitably ends up down a rabbit hole, looking at conspiracy theories and strange youtube videos and maybe the moon landings weren't even real, Steve, had you considered that? TheyreLyingToUs on youtube has 50 subscribers, so maybe he has a point--

Bucky yearns to go outside, especially since it doesn't happen very often. 

Or, scratch that. Bucky likes going outside when he _isn't_ running with Sam and Steve. Runs with Sam and Steve, and occasionally Natasha, happen a lot. They happen every morning, at the ass crack of dawn. Bucky doesn't class those as trips outside. Running is boring.

What Bucky enjoys is outings with Sam, even though it does involve going out with Sam. He likes seeing the city. He likes people watching, and exploring new places, or places that aren't new but might as well be for how much they've changed.

"Can't believe you've dragged me here," Sam mutters, two paces behind Bucky as they walk down old streets that are as familiar to Bucky as if he'd just been there yesterday - in reality, it's been a good seventy years. "Making me taking the damn D train all the way out to-- where are we?" Sam asks, almost running into Bucky's back when he comes to a stop.

"We're home." Bucky says, looking up at the old brick building.

He doesn't feel much of anything, looking at it. The place had always been a shithole when he and Steve had lived there, but that was no surprise. They hadn't been able to afford anything better than a shithole. For a time, though, it had been their shithole.

It looks nicer now. Someone's evidently put a lot of money into doing it up, but it still looks the same, the same old lady under all that makeup. _Mutton dressed as lamb,_ Bucky’s mother would have said - Winifred hadn’t been one for putting on airs. 

Bucky fumbles with the way-too-fragile phone Steve had gotten him a while back, snaps a picture, and sends it to Steve with a slew of building related emojis. 

"Okay, we can go." Bucky says, turning around to look at Sam. 

Sam blinks at him. "What?"

"We can go. Back home. I'm done." 

"You dragged me out to Brooklyn to-- to take a selfie. With a building."

Bucky arches his eyebrows. "Uh, this is the building where Steve and I had our first ever apartment, Birdass--"

"What kind of an insult is that?" Sam stares, but Bucky continues.

"--back when Steve was like this high--" He gestures to about his chest, though he knows fine well Steve had been taller than that. Dramatic effect. "--and no one wanted shit to do with him. Look-- building's even got a fancy plaque to say so."

Bucky points with one metal finger, and Sam peers over his shoulder, making a soft _huh_ when he spots it. It's bronze. It has Steve's shield etched into it. 

When Sam looks back at Bucky, his gaze has changed entirely. Bucky holds back a groan. He's made Professional Sam come out.

"Why did you need to come here today?" Sam asks him, and this time Bucky _doesn't_ hold back a groan. "No, Barnes, I'm serious this time. Why did we need to come here? Why didn't you want to tell me we were coming here?"

"Because I revel in your misery." Bucky retorts, but that serious expression doesn't slip an inch. "What do you want me to say, Sam? Nostalgia? A longing for times long past? Honestly, I just wanted to see if it was still standing."

"You could've asked Steve." Sam points out.

Buck snorts. "Steve's a sentimental idiot." He rolls his eyes, and when he speaks again it’s in a high-pitched, mocking tone. " _Why didn't you just ask Steve, Barnes_? Just ask Steve about the building the two of you had your first dance in, your first kiss in, the first place he ever said I love you in, why not?"

Sam's expression still hasn't changed. Bucky sighs. 

"No hidden meaning, Wilson. I just wanted to know." On my own, he doesn’t say. Sam probably gets it anyway.

And speaking of, Birdass is still looking at him intently. Bucky thinks about poking him and making a joke about Medusa, then pauses. His head turns, and he listens, his brow creasing as he frowns.

"What is it?" Sam asks him.

"Shush," Bucky waves his right hand at him dismissively. "I'm listening."

He doesn't know what the noise is, but it sounds distressed. It's faint; he begins to follow it, heading down the building’s side alley. Sam trails along behind him but he doesn't say a word, Bucky's super-soldier hearing straining to find out the source of the noise.

There's a dumpster at the end of the alley, and the closer they get, the louder the noise gets, though it's still muffled. When he reaches it he lifts the lid off and then hauls himself over the side, using the flashlight on his fancy new phone to see inside.

A jet black kitten looks at him, hisses, and then swipes at him.

"Oh my god." Bucky whispers. 

It takes some coaxing, and he has to make Sam hold his phone, but he finally manages to wrangle the kitten using his metal hand. The cat and lashes out until Bucky scoops him up awkwardly, hand under his chest as he airlifts him out, but as soon as Bucky cradles it against his chest the kitten stops, blinking up at him with big green eyes.

Bucky smiles down at it in turn. He looks away for a moment, eyes scanning the alley in case there are any other kittens in distress, but with the coast clear he looks back down at the one in his arms. He turns to look at Sam, who eyeballs the scruffy, stinky little cat, and then looks up at Bucky. 

"You're taking that home, huh?"

"Like I'm gonna leave it here?"

Sam turns Bucky's phone off and hands it back to him, the kitten now snuggled into the crook of Bucky's arm.

Bucky doesn't know what the New York subway system's policy is on cats on the train, so when they get to the subway station he tucks the kitten into his jacket and zips it up to keep it at least sort-of hidden on the way back to Manhattan. 

Somewhere around Grand Street Station, Sam tries to reach out and tickle behind the kitten's velvety ears when it pokes its head out of Bucky's jacket, but the kitten tilts his ears back and hisses at him, one paw fumbling out of the jacket as he tries to swipe at him before ducking back into Bucky's jacket. It tickles, but that isn't why Bucky's laughing as Sam yanks his hand back.

"Assholes. You're both assholes. You deserve each other." He mutters, sinking down in his seat and folding his arms over his chest, hands tucked under his arms where they're safe from mean dumpster kittens.

 

~*~

 

When Steve gets home that night, the apartment is oddly quiet. 

Usually there’s some sort of hum, some background noise. Bucky cursing at something, or the tv blaring, or Bucky cursing at something _while_ the tv is blaring. Tonight there's nothing, though, and Steve is immediately suspicious. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the shield with him -  it's in the bedroom, where it has been for a while now, propped up against the wall by his side of the bed.

He curls his hands into fists, ready to fight if he has to, and creeps into the apartment. 

No sign of anything wrong in the entryway, or the living room, so he continues on. He can hear soft, unfamiliar noises coming from the bedroom, and he pauses before pushing the door open, just a crack. Stealth has never been Steve's strong suit but if he can get a look at whatever’s going on, assess the situation, then maybe he can use it to his advantage. He holds his breath as he peers through, entire body tensed.

"It’s a cat." He says, walking into the bedroom and looking down at the kitten rolling around on the carpet. It rolls onto its back, and Bucky's metal hand reaches down to scratch its belly. Bucky doesn't react when the kitten curls around his hand and starts chewing on his thumb, back paws scratching against his palm as it curls into a tiny ball of teeth, claws and pure rage.

"That serum did wonders for you, Steve. Your powers of observation, incredible." Bucky quips, looking down at the kitten and seemingly realising that it's trying to eat him. He gives his hand a gentle shake and the kitten flips over onto its paws, scampering off under the bed.

"Watch your toes." Sam warns. "He’s evil."

" _He’s_ _evil_ ," Bucky says, in that high-pitched voice he uses when he wants to make fun of Sam. Steve has become very familiar with that voice since Bucky came home. "Why are you still here, Wilson, I don't need to be babysat in my own home."

Something in Steve does a backflip when he hears Bucky refer to the apartment as his home, but he stows it away for later. 

“He’s a he?” Steve inquires, moving to kneel beside Bucky on the floor.

Bucky shrugs one shoulder. “According to the vet. And before you start, he’s free of fleas, worms and contagious diseases. She checked that too. You have a clean bill of health, don’t you Dumpster?” Bucky leans down so he can get to eye-level with the cat, cooing at him.

Steve has so many questions. “And why, exactly, is he called Dumpster?” He begins, looking pointedly at Sam - Sam should have known better than to let this happen.

"Well, that's where I found him." Bucky answers. "And he's an asshole, so it suits him." 

Sam snorts from his spot on the bed. "Does that mean we can call you Dumpster too?"

"Hilarious, Wilson. You’re a real comedian. When’s your Netflix special out?"

Sam doesn’t say anything in return, choosing only to roll his eyes at Bucky, so Steve goes in for his next question. “But why is he here?” He asks, looking to Bucky again.

“He's here because he's revenge for all the strays you used to make me feed at the ass crack of dawn in the middle of winter." Bucky retorts.

That's sort of an answer to Steve's question, but he doesn't think it's the right one. He thinks it has something to do with Bucky being softer and sweeter than he’d like to admit. But still, he sniffs indignantly in Bucky's direction. "You're the one who wouldn't let me go outside."

"Because it was the ass crack of dawn and the middle of winter." Bucky huffs, but he leans over to bump his shoulder against Steve's. 

“You two gonna stop bickering any time today?” Sam asks from his spot on the bed.

“You’re still here? Get out of my house, Wilson.” Bucky doesn't even bother to look up from where he's waggling metal fingers enticingly just in front of the kitten, whose eyes widen and then narrow as he focuses, head moving back and forth with the movement of his fingers. When no one moves, Bucky finally looks up, gaze shifting from Sam to Steve and back again. "Alright, fine. Give him your debriefing and _then_ get out of my house."

Sam huffs, but at last he stands, nodding towards the door while looking at Steve. Steve can take a hint. He leans over to press a kiss to Bucky's temple, earning a small smile for his efforts, and then he follows Sam out of the room.

For the record, Steve _loathes_ talking about Bucky behind his back. Like Bucky is some kind of patient, some kind of responsibility and not the love of his life. And it doesn't happen often, but sometimes Sam wants to talk privately. That's when he's being his most professional; Bucky begrudges it, and Steve knows better than to argue with him.

"You guys paid a visit to Brooklyn, huh?"

Sam's face twists. " _Paid a visit_ makes it sound like I wanted to."

"You got something against Brooklyn?" Steve asks, trying to look his most stern as he crosses his arms over his chest, but Sam knows him too well, now. He isn't intimidated in the slightest; Steve loves it. "How was he?"

"He was... fine." Sam says, and Steve arches an eyebrow. "I know. I tried to get a read on him, Steve, but he told me he was fine, and..." Sam throws his hands up. "He was."

"Why did he want to go? Did he say?" Steve asks. He doesn't know why he's pressing - Bucky wouldn't tell Sam anyway, probably, and Steve can ask him later on, when they're curled up in bed and Bucky's all soft and sweet like he gets when the lights are off and he's half asleep. 

"He said he just wanted to know if it was still there." Sam shrugs. "And to be honest, I think he was telling the truth. He had to go see it in person, but that's all it was."

Sam is quiet after that, but there's something to his gaze, and usually Steve is bad at understanding hidden meanings and things like that, but he thinks he gets this one. It feels like a weight being lifted off his chest, like he's suddenly fifty pounds lighter, or like the first time he had stepped out into the world, the serum running through him, and suddenly he'd been able to breathe. 

"You're clearing him."

Sam shrugs one shoulder. "I'm gonna write the report with my recommendation and send it in. Can't account for what the government'll do."

Steve snorts softly. His faith in the US government died a hell of a long time ago. But still, Sam thinks Bucky's ready, and that counts for something. 

Steve reaches out to grab Sam's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. "Thank you, Sam. For everything."

Sam gives Steve's hand a gentle pat, but then he cocks his head. "You owe me." He says. "Babysitting that asshole for an entire month. You got no idea how much you owe me."

"You did a good deed for Captain America," Steve says, innocently batting his eyelashes. "That isn't enough for you?"

"After thirty days with your boy? Not even close." Sam says, but there's a laugh in his voice. Steve really does owe him, though.

When Steve goes back to the bedroom, Bucky's sitting with the kitten in his lap, the two of them looking quite content.

"I'm a free man." Bucky says, looking up at Steve. 

"With any luck." Steve nods, moving to sit on the end of the bed, looking down at them both. "Gotta see what Uncle Sam says first." He pauses, and then adds, "Not our Sam. The other Uncle Sam. The government." Bucky arches an eyebrow at him, and Steve smiles a little sheepishly. "You knew what I meant."

"I knew what you meant." Bucky agrees, looking down at the cat. "Dumbass." He adds, looking up at Steve and grinning.

And however light Steve's breathing had become just moments earlier, suddenly the breath is stolen from him now; Bucky's smile always had that effect on him, though. He doesn't know why 70 years would make any difference.

"I'd kiss you," Bucky says, "But I don't wanna move Dumpster now that he's comfy."

"That's a terrible name for a cat," Steve informs him, lowering himself to the floor in front of Bucky. 

"He seems happy with it." Bucky shrugs, looking down at the cat.

"If you're keeping him, we're not calling him that."

"Oh, we're keeping him." Bucky snorts. "This is my apartment too, you told me so, no take backs--"

Steve decides to shut him up the best way he knows how: he leans forward to kiss him, one hand cupping Bucky's jaw as his lips muffle whatever he was about to say, and the cat purrs happily between them, tail thumping against Bucky's leg.

 

~*~

 

Bucky doesn't have a job. Steve is some free lance spy or muscle or _something_ \- all Bucky knows is that he works with Natasha and the two of them seem to do something off-book, neither government nor SHIELD affiliated, not that there’s a SHIELD to be affiliated with anymore.

(And Steve would rather throw his Harley in the Hudson than work for the US government again, so that one's out)

It's some kind of freelance vigilante thing, but for the most part he’s only a spectator. The odd journey into the field, but nothing too high profile - Bucky knows this not because he’d asked Steve, and not because he’d followed him (though the urge had certainly been there, under his skin like an itch), but because he’d asked Natasha. Natasha had known just as well as Bucky that Steve wouldn’t want Bucky to worry, was keeping him in the dark of certain exact details for that very reason, but Bucky only worried more if he didn’t know. Hence why Natasha had told him in whispered Russian, letting him know that Steve was, at least 50% of the time, not in any direct danger. 

And since Bucky had come home, it had seemed rather tame. Steve comes home to Bucky every night without a mark on him, just how Bucky likes him.

(Well - Bucky likes a few marks on him, but he likes to have put him there himself, usually with his mouth)

Steve assures Bucky that there's no pressure for him to do anything; Steve's army back pay and his avenging days mean they're taken care of. Bucky's a kept man, and whilst he loves _that_ , he isn't much of a house husband. After spending a month reading, watching documentaries and only getting to go outside with Wilson in tow, Bucky's ready to exercise his right to freedom.

So he goes out. He goes everywhere he can think of; he even breaks down and goes to Queens, because being able to go out, to go where he wants to and not have to tell anyone, not having to take orders from anyone - it's amazing. Even in Wakanda, Bucky hadn't been a prisoner, but he had known to let someone know where he was going - it was a politeness more than anything, but he had felt like he ought to. Now when he does it it's out of courtesy, not obligation.

He's sitting on the subway when he sees the magazine. It's garishly pink and has a woman flashing big pearly white teeth on the front cover, and he knows he probably shouldn't pick up a magazine that he's found abandoned on the subway, cause god knows what kind of germs are on the thing, but he can't help himself. Letting himself do things he wants to do is one of the things the Wakandan healers had taught him, so maybe it's a step in the right direction.

The magazine turns out to be a little less factual than Bucky’s usual reading material, but he _loves_ it. He reads an interview with some actress he's never seen before, then an article on how to get the perfect brows (and he looks up at his reflection in the subway window then to find that his brows are-- what does the magazine say? _on fleek_ already), and then he gets to something interesting.

  **Sexting 101: What your man _really_ wants to hear**

Now _that_ is something Bucky wants to know more about.

He ends up missing his stop and riding the subway for a hell of a lot longer than he was meant to, but he doesn't care. He's too busy reading about sexy text messages, because apparently in the future people don't just use the tiny computers in their pockets to make calls and find their way around and watch videos of people falling over, they also use them to send people pictures of their dick - with commentary.

Bucky doesn't keep the magazine, but then he doesn't have to. His memory is practically photographic; when he gets off the subway he can recall it almost word for word.

Now, sending saucy letters is nothing new to Bucky - he was a soldier, a soldier surrounded by a hell of a lot of other soldiers, and some of the letters his men used to get would have made Colonel Phillips blush. And Bucky... Well. Bucky got some saucy letters too, they were just in code. Amazing how Steve could get him hot when to anyone else, it looked like they were talking about this month's grocery bill.

But this is incredible - he can take a photo, send it to Steve, and Steve'll get it in a matter of seconds rather than a matter of weeks, or months. He can send him a text whenever the mood strikes him, and he can send as many texts as he wants. 

Bucky decides to ruminate on it. Steve's waiting for him when he gets home in any case - no point sending it over the phone when he can tell him in person.

 

~*~

 

In the end, he decides to do a little more research.

These days, Bucky is nothing if not thorough. Sam's cleared him for regular civilian life, cause he's almost a regular person, but there a few little habits that are still ingrained in him or that became ingrained in him over the years, and thoroughness is one of them.

But he's trying his best to be a modern man, and this is a part of it. Steve has adapted surprisingly well to his 21st century life, even if Natasha assures Bucky that the first year, maybe eighteen months, were physically painful for everyone involved. Bucky's getting there, but life in Wakanda is different to life in New York; he's getting used to things all over again

And apparently one of those things is sending pictures of your dick over the phone - which the internet warns him is often unsolicited, and unsolicited dick pics (he really hates that name, but he heard a girl on the subway say it so that must be what the kids called it) are not good. They're very bad. But would it be unsolicited if he was sending them to Steve?

Dumpster jumps onto the back of the couch and then plops down onto his chest, pawing at him and walking all over him like he does when his bowl is empty, so Bucky locks his phone and tosses it at the couch before he gets up. "Alright, alright, can't a guy get five minutes peace around here?" he grumbles. He grabs one of the cans of expensive kitten food he’d gotten from the vets and opens it into the bowl on the floor, hands on his hips as Dumpster settles down in front of it. “Spoiled,” He accuses in a murmur, reaching down to pet the soft fur beneath the cat’s ear.

 

~*~

 

Later that night, when the lights are off and he's lying half on top of Steve, his head pillowed on Steve's chest, right arm thrown over his stomach, he decides to take his research to the next step - he's going to conduct a survey. Or, well, he's going to ask Steve. He had considered asking Natasha, but he could only imagine the look she would give him, equal parts withering, terrifying, and mocking, so he'd decided to poll the audience instead.

"Steve?" He asks, his voice soft in the stillness of the room.

He knows Steve isn't asleep; his eyes are closed, but he blinks them open just as soon as Bucky breaks the silence, looking at him with a gaze softer than the thick fur on Dumpster's belly. Steve's hand shifts, dragging over Bucky's back, palm settling against his spine. "Yeah?"

For a moment Bucky doesn't say anything, just lets that touch sink in through the soft, worn-out t-shirt he's wearing as a sleep shirt. He needs this - the contact. Even before the war he and Steve had slept like a pair of octopuses, clinging to one another like they might fall out of bed if they didn't. Back then it had been Steve lying half on top of Bucky, or sometimes fully on top of him, depending on the night, and he had been all sharp elbows and knobbly knees and Bucky would cuss whenever he got jabbed in the ribs but he never once turned Steve away. Not ever.

And it's not like they don't still sleep like that, sometimes; sometimes it's Steve who curls around Bucky, head tucked into the curve of his neck or into his chest, arm looped around his waist, but it isn't the same as it was. Maybe Steve likes it better; maybe that's how Steve had felt every night, all those years ago, wishing he could be the one doing the holding rather than the one being held.

He's been quiet too long; that happens sometimes. Especially in the soft, sweet moments like this one, when it's just him and Steve and the quiet, and now Dumpster, curled up at Bucky's feet.

"Everything okay?" Steve whispers, shifting just a tad and Bucky grabs at him, trying to keep him in place.

"Yeah." Bucky says softly. "Sorry. 'was just thinking."

"Don't wanna do that," Steve murmurs. Bucky already knows what the joke's gonna be before he even opens his mouth. "You'll hurt yourself."

"You ever thought about being a professional comedian, Rogers?" He yawns, poking Steve in the ribs with his index finger. It gets a soft laugh out of Steve, a slight squirm, but Bucky still clings to him just like before. 

"I could probably do with a career change." Steve agrees, and Bucky feels more than sees the smile slip away. "Is that what you wanted to ask me?"

"No." Bucky murmurs. He shifts then, tilting his head back so he can look at Steve, and he has to smile a little at the way Steve's looking down at him, giving him a little double chin from the angle. Bucky reaches out to press his finger against Steve's chin before he lets his hand fall to his chest, next to the thumping of his heart. Steve is so patient with him; Bucky doesn't deserve him. He's getting introspective again. Shit. Think fast, Barnes. "You ever gotten dick pic?"

The softness of the moment dies right there and then.

Steve chokes on a breath, and even in the near dark of the room Bucky can see his cheeks turn bright red. Even without his enhanced senses he'd be able to see it, he'd be able to _feel_ it, the sheer heat radiating off Steve's skin.

"What-- why? What?" Steve manages, looking down at him again and blinking rapidly. Bucky grins when he feels Steve’s heartbeat quicken beneath his palm. 

"Just wondering." he says, as innocent as he can manage. "'s not an answer to my question, though."

Steve squirms under him, but Bucky doesn't move, doesn't even look away. He's serious about wanting an answer to his question. 

He and Steve had already sort of talked about this. Bucky was under no impression that Steve had turned into some sort of monk after Bucky had fell from the train. Hell, as he'd been lying in the snow, bleeding out of the stump of his left arm, he'd thought that at least Steve had Peggy. He'd thought some pretty awful things for a minute there, about how Peggy was going to be there and he wasn't, but he’d wanted to leave this mortal coil with love in his heart, so he'd focused on the fact that Steve wouldn't be alone as he'd slipped into what he'd _thought_ was the ether.

Seventy years later, and he still doesn't expect Steve to have been completely celibate in his devotion to the love he thought was dead. And sure, Bucky wasn't actually dead at all, but he had still been gone for a good two or three years before he'd found his way back to Steve.

But he knows Steve doesn't like to talk about it. He knows that Steve feels guilty, which Bucky has told him is ridiculous, like, a thousand times, but Steve always was stubborn and thick headed. When Bucky had asked him if there had been anyone else, one day when they were sitting outside their little Wakandan home, Steve had ducked his head and looked like he was about to apologise for killing one of Bucky’s goats. Bucky had sidled up to next to him and told him it was okay - he just wanted to know.

Not many, Steve had admitted, but a few. Bucky had to tamp down the spike of jealousy by telling himself that it was good for Steve. And if it made him feel a little better that Steve had hated being on those stupid dating apps, well that's his own bitter little secret.

"Yeah. I have." Steve says, and again Bucky feels a twist of jealousy, but he stomps on it. "Not recently," He says, like he needs to at all - Bucky knows that he wouldn't. Bucky knows that he's been the single focus of Steve's mind since his mask fell off three years ago. "But in the past, yeah. And uh--" He pauses, making a noise like his honesty is literally choking him, and then says, "Stuff from girls too, I guess. In case that's... important to you."

It isn't, but it doesn't surprise Bucky any either. Steve's a handsome guy. It's no wonder he had girls and guys sending him pictures of god knows what. Bucky wishes he could relate.

“Did you like it?” Bucky asks him, the words coming more easily than he would have anticipated - but then, he never has to worry about asking Steve anything.

Though he might have to worry about Steve’s head exploding, if the deep red darkening his cheeks is anything to go by. “I mean— yeah. They weren’t— unsolicited.”

Bucky hums softly. In a way, it’s sort of hot, thinking about Steve liking that, thinking about Steve _wanting_ that. Bucky shifts a little, quiet. 

"Thanks for telling me." He says, after a moment of silence. He presses a kiss to Steve's chest, and then settles his chin over the spot, giving him a gentle smile. 

"You gonna tell me why, now?" Steve asks, but Bucky just turns his head, pillowing his cheek on Steve's pectorals.

"Just wondering," he says idly, sighing softly when Steve runs his fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp with blunt nails.

"You been getting raunchy pictures, 's that what you're trying to tell me?" Steve continues, apparently not happy to just let Bucky be curious - Steve might be a dumbass, but when it comes to Bucky Barnes he's a goddamn genius. He definitely Bucky has ulterior motives - maybe he doesn't and Bucky is just overthinking it. "I gotta fight someone for your honour?"

Bucky snorts softly, but he knows Steve would do it if Bucky said yes. "I'm offended that you think I'd do that."

"I don't." Steve replies, softly but quickly, his heart beating once, twice, three times fast before it settles again.

"I know." Bucky murmurs, pressing another kiss to Steve's chest. "But I mean it, Steve. Just curious. Used to take a lot more effort to send someone a photo of your dick back in our day, these kids don't know how lucky they've got it."

It always makes Steve laugh when Bucky talks like the disgruntled old man he is. He feels Steve shake softly in silent laughter, those fingers still combing gently through his hair.

"And they don't have to worry about going to jail either." He adds, voice tinging with that old Brooklyn accent that always filters in when they joke around like this. Bucky loves it. "Kids these days, Buck, don't even know they're born--

They really don't. That part's not a joke. They don't know how lucky they are, even though things are still shit, even though there's still people who sneer at him and Steve when they're holding hands on the street or cuddled up together on the subway, they don't know how good they've got it. It hits Bucky every so often. He gets complacent, he takes it for granted. He can go outside and kiss Steve whenever he wants to and no one can do a damn thing about it. Fucking incredible.

He shifts, surging up with assassin quickness, a skill he can never unlearn, to press his lips to Steve's, kissing him soft and slow and deep. Bucky feels him jump a little in surprise before his hands settle on Bucky's ribs, holding onto him ever so gently. 

"Bucky?" He asks, confusion in his voice when Bucky pulls back far enough to let him speak, though their lips brush when he does - Bucky doesn't want to pull back too far if he can help it, wants their breath to mingle between them, wants to feel the heat radiating off Steve's skin. 

"I just love you, you dumb punk." Bucky replies, a certain sense of wonder in his voice. The absolute _love_ in Steve's bright blue eyes seems to make them glow in the near black of the room. 

Steve surges up to kiss him, his hands rubbing over his skin to rest on Bucky's shoulders, stroking with equal fervor despite the vastly different sensations on either side. 

"I love you too." Steve says, smiling at him in that stupid dopey way he has. "Jerk." He adds, nipping at Bucky's bottom lip and drawing a grin out of him. And then finally, after another moment, "Can we go to sleep now?"

Bucky's grin widens a touch before he leans down to give Steve a quick peck on the lips. "Sure can, grandpa," Bucky says, snuggling back into Steve's chest where he's nice and warm and comfortable. "Would hate for you not to get your beauty sleep."

"Jerk." Steve says again, this time with feeling and a jab in the ribs for Bucky, but he wraps his arms around him still. Bucky falls asleep curled around Steve's side, same as the night before, the same that he hopefully will for every night to come, Steve's steady heartbeat lulling him into sleep. 

 

~*~

 

Steve has Bucky pinned to the wall next to the bathroom door, where the hallway opens up into the living space, and the back of Bucky's head is getting to know it intimately as Steve lifts him up and presses him into it, pressing harsh, sucking kisses into his neck, down to the junction of his shoulder until Bucky's shirt gets in the way. Steve, apparently, isn't happy at all about that - he holds Bucky against the wall with his hips and torso, a move that pulls some kind of strangled sound from deep in his throat that Bucky didn't even know he _could_ make, and then Steve uses both hands to pull the shirt up and over his head, flinging it aside. 

Bucky hooks his legs tighter around Steve's hips as Steve kisses over his shoulder, over his chest, sucking a mark somewhere over his heart because he's a sappy son of a bitch. Bucky tangles his metal hand in Steve's hair, fingers tugging at golden strands as Steve's mouth finds his nipple and grazes it with his teeth, tongue laving over the sensitive nub.

"Bedroom," Bucky gasps, his other hand scrabbling at Steve's shoulder, arching his neck, head pressing back further against the wall. "Bedroom right now."

He feels Steve grin against his chest, but he's so glad he doesn't argue - Steve might be an argumentative asshole 90% of the time, but when it comes to sex he and Bucky usually agree. Steve wraps an arm around Bucky's waist, the other reaching out to open the bedroom door and _god_ , Bucky loved Steve when he was all sharp angles and spite but this, the way he can hold Bucky up like he weighs nothing, like he isn't all muscle and metal, it steals Bucky's breath a little.

His back hits the mattress, Steve hovering over him, smiling down at him for just a second before he gets back to work, kissing down Bucky's chest, over his abdomen, and Bucky's hand finds its place in his hair once again. The other reaches up, fisting in the bedsheets above his head, his breathing harsh and they're barely getting started.

Steve tugs Bucky's jeans off almost as unceremoniously as he did his shirt, tossing them on the floor by the bed - there's no sign of Dumpster, Bucky's hindbrain notes, which is good. Bucky doesn't want to ruin his innocence just yet.

His thoughts are brought sharply away from the cat by the feeling of a mouth, _Steve's_ mouth, hot and eager, lips moving against Bucky's cock through the fabric of his underwear. He's already hard, and when Steve mouths at the patch of wetness already soaked through from his leaking cock, and Bucky has to use the fingers tangled in Steve's hair to _tug_.

"More," He demands, because he's never been shy about what he wants. "More, Stevie, god-- fuck--"

Steve gives him that wickedly sharp grin again as he pulls back just an inch, or even less, and then presses a quick kiss to the head of Bucky's dick before reaching for the elastic of his briefs.

"Sap," Bucky groans, fist tugging harder at the sheets.

"Pot, kettle," Steve returns, but he continues getting Bucky's underwear pulled down his hips and off his feet to join the rest of the clothes on the floor.

Bucky loses the ability to think right at the exact moment when Steve swallows him down, taking every inch of Bucky's cock like he was made for it - though, he supposes, Steve really has put the hours into practising. Bucky gasps as the head of his dick hits the back of Steve's throat, but Steve doesn't so much as flinch, throat working, nostrils flaring for a moment as he pulls in a breath before he begins to move. 

Bucky remembers a time when Steve had been bad at this - when he had been sloppy but eager, had made up for his lack of technique with his enthusiasm. Now he as both - he curls his tongue over Bucky's slit, drags it down the vein on the underside of his cock and Bucky about see stars. He tugs harder at Steve's hair as Steve bobs his head, hips twitching with the need to push up into that warm, wet mouth. Bucky can feel it, the heat pooling in the pit of his stomach, the tension filling him up and up and up, and Bucky would stop him but they both know they can go for another round or two; by now they’ve done it often enough.

He neglects to give Steve a second's warning before he comes down his throat, the cords of his neck standing out as he shouts his release, but still Steve doesn't falter. He swallows, only pulling back when Bucky whimpers, fingers carding gently through Steve's hair. 

"What, can't give a guy some warning?" Steve grins at him, Bucky's hand moving from Steve's hair to wipe a drop of come from his chin, holding his thumb out for Steve to take into his mouth. Steve's tongue against the pad of Bucky's thumb, metal or not, is almost too much in itself - and from the way Steve's pupils blow wide, Bucky knows he isn't the only one affected. 

"You're not naked." He remarks, his voice a little wobbly.

Steve laughs, brushing a stray lock of hair from Bucky's forehead, fingertips gentle against his skin. "I haven't had the time."

"No time like the present." Bucky responds, reaching down to squeeze Steve's ass through his jeans. "Put it in me, Rogers.

Steve is still chuckling as he shifts to his knees, tugging his shirt off over his head before he sits back and tries to wiggle out of his jeans, making Bucky laugh in the process. This is what he loves; laughing with Steve like this, even in their most intimate moments.

"Better?" Steve asks, once his clothes have joined Bucky’s in the pile on the floor..

Bucky eyes him hungrily, hands reaching out for Steve's hips. "Much." He takes his time just to run his hands over him, feel Steve's flushed skin beneath his fingertips - he used to be freezing cold all of the time, cold toes pressed to Bucky's shins, cold nose pressed into his neck, but now he's like a furnace - another thing that Bucky loves. His hands move to the back of Steve's neck and he pulls him down into another kiss, slower this time but hungrier, deeper, only pulling back when his lungs begin to ache.

"Thought you wanted me to put in you?" Steve snarks him, and Bucky swats at him but it's half-hearted; especially since Steve is reaching for the bedside table and the lube inside of it, muscles in his arm flexing as he holds himself above Bucky.

Bucky watches as Steve kisses back down his body, one hand finding his knee whilst the other, already slick, presses against his hole, fingertips skirting the rim. Bucky shivers, but he gets distracted by the kiss Steve presses to the inside of his knee, the soft nip that follows it. Bucky smiles a little lazily only for it to fall away as his mouth drops open with the press of Steve's finger inside of him, not even a word of warning - payback, Bucky supposes.

Steve opens him up slowly, like he's savouring it, or maybe like he's torturing Bucky - maybe both. Bucky squirms beneath him, clenches the muscles in his stomach to pull himself up a little to see Steve better. "You're not in a much of a hurry, are you?"

“Do I gotta be?" Steve returns, sweet and innocent as ever. Bucky knows full well it's an act - he knows Steve is evil. 

"'s no time like the present," Bucky huffs instead, moving his other knee to nudge him gently.

Steve laughs, biting at that knee for good measure, and then he shifts, slips a second finger inside and Bucky groans, tilting his head back. His hair is going to be a mess but he doesn't care - never does, when this is how it happens. Steve presses into him deeper, crooking his fingers and suddenly Bucky's entire body lights up, fireworks going off behind his eyes as Steve brushes over his prostate. Bucky arches off the bed, maybe almost kneeing Steve in the head in the process, but Steve doesn't so much as make a sound, just presses over that spot again and again, relentless, until Bucky's scrabbling for purchase against the bed.

"In me, Rogers, jesus fucking christ, you son of a bitch--"

And then all of a sudden Steve's fingers are gone, and he's looking down at Bucky as Bucky blinks one eye open, then the other, panting a little as he meets Steve's gaze.

"You need to learn some manners, Buck," he comments, teasing, but all Bucky does is lean up to kiss him, his hand sliding around to the back of Steve's neck again.

"Fuck me," He says, voice already rough. " _Please_."

He feels Steve grin against his lips, kissing him once more before he grabbing the bottle of lube again, and Bucky watches, almost hypnotised, as he takes a moment to slick himself up before he moves. Two fingers probably aren't going to be enough, it'll probably still burn a little at first, but Bucky kind of likes it, and he fucking loves what it does to Steve, the hot, tight heat driving him crazy. Bucky spreads his legs open as much as he can, aided by Steve's hand on his thigh, the other guiding his dick towards Bucky's entrance. Bucky takes a short, sharp gulp of air as he feels the thick head of Steve's cock pushing at him, pushing _into_ him--

And then he about breaks his neck waking up from his mid-afternoon nap, the loud sound that had woken him still ringing in his ears.

"Jesus fucking--" He begins, glancing around. He can only assume the noise has something to do with Dumpster, who's taken refuge on top of the wardrobe, tail puffed up, and the shield, still rolling on its edge like a fallen cymbal, no doubt the sound that had woken him - right when he was getting to the good shit, too. Not that all of it hadn't been good. Except -- well, he doesn't have to reason to his own mind, so he lets it go.

He moves to sit up, to put the shield back into position, gathering dust, but he's presented with something of a problem - notably, the massive erection pushing at the soft fabric of his underwear. He shifts a little, considers taking care of it in the shower, then pauses. His phone is sitting just out of reach on top of the dresser, and Bucky doesn't even think

He grabs his robe from where it sits in a pile by the side of the bed, pulling it on as he totters, slowly, over to the dresser and back again. He briefly considers putting the shield back first, but he can always do it after. Right now, he's got bigger things to do - he's trying to be a modern man, god damn it. He wants to date like the millennials date, whatever a millennial is.

He tries not to think about it too hard. He stands in the middle of the room, pushing his underwear down until he can get his hand around his dick, hissing softly at the contact - he strokes it once, out of instinct more than anything, biting his bottom lip before he takes the photo.

It takes a long time to get it right. Taking a photo with his metal hand is fine thanks to Wakandan technology, but it's still not fucking easy - the first picture he takes, he hates the angle. The second, his hair. The third, the way his head is tilted. It takes about fifty tries and five minutes that _feel_ like five years with his cock throbbing the way that it is, but then he gets it. The perfect picture. 

He looks at it in quiet amazement.

He takes a lot of photos of himself these days; Profesional Sam would probably say it was something to do with his subconscious, the ability to take a photo when he wanted to or proving that he was there, or something. Unprofessional Sam would probably just say that Bucky's vain as shit, which isn't wrong. As far as Bucky's concerned, he just likes taking photos - and this one is a really fucking good one.

Every little thing is right about it. The sharpness of his jaw, accentuated by the tilt of his head, his too-long hair falling over his shoulder, onto his cheekbones just a little. His skin is still a little flushed, probably from the dream or maybe from the thrill of what he's doing - if this is how it feels every time, Bucky understands exactly why the millenials would be at it, because _christ_ he feels alive. The red of his robe and the red of his hard cock being fisted in his right hand as he angles the camera - it's a work of god damn art is what it is. It's hot. 

Dumpster sitting on the shield in the background is probably more funny than hot, but then when have he and Steve ever been afraid to laugh during sex?

Bucky sits on the edge of the bed, Dumpster scampering out of the room when his claws skitter across the metal and make a noise loud enough to spook himself. Bucky isn't going to set the shield back into place right now, no matter how much it upsets his cat. He strokes his cock with a loose fist, breathing getting just a little faster as he sends the photo to Steve - _Had a dream about you_ , he writes underneath, and then falls backwards onto their bed, toes still curled into the carpet. 

He wants to wait. He wants to know what Steve has to say, wants to know what he thinks, but he can't wait anymore. Imagining it will do for now, he thinks - imagining Steve, wherever he was, whatever he was doing, opening that message and seeing the look in Bucky's eye, the _want_ , the _need_. He can imagine the way Steve's eyes will blow wide, the black all but engulfing the bright blue of his irises, and he'll blush, because Steve always blushes. Steve blushing under Bucky's ministrations, blushing for the slightest little reason, is one of the constants of Bucky's universe. 

He jerks himself a little faster, mouth falling open at the thought of it. Steve in some sort of meeting, sitting at a big long table, flushing from the tips of his eyes to the skin disappearing under his too-tight shirt, always too-tight, and his cock twitching in his pants. Would it be enough to get him hard? Bucky thinks so. He sure as fuck hopes so. He hopes the picture drives Steve as wild as it did Bucky; he hopes Steve has to slip his phone into his pocket, carefully excuse himself and run to the nearest closet, the nearest bathroom, wherever he can get a little privacy just so he can get his hand down his pants, working himself over whilst looking at Bucky, at his picture, thinking about him in turn.

Bucky comes like that, his fist working faster and faster, thinking about Steve doing the exact same, hot just from imagining him. He bites his lip against a whimper, feeling wrung out and exhausted again as he shifts a little, and he’s still thinking of Steve. Steve in the exact same position, panting and sweaty and flushed all over. 

Bucky goes to clean himself up, propping the shield back up its usual spot, and then he checks his phone.

**Steve** : Jesus Christ Buck       

_Yeah_ , Bucky thinks. Jesus Christ indeed.

 

~*~

 

Steve is _not_ in a meeting, but boy did he wish he had been - at least in a meeting he would be occupied, and he could excuse himself when something like _this_ happens.

But, no, he’s currently on a stake-out with Natasha, perched on the roof of a building opposite their mark’s office/evil lair, and he thinks he’s about to vibrate out of his skin.

He hates stake outs. He isn’t built for stealth. The serum made him big and fast and strong - the serum made him a wrecking ball, a bull in a china shop, best suited for going in and smashing things up. He _can_ be stealthy, of course. He’s light on his feet when he needs to be and hey, curling his entire body up behind the shield has always been pretty effective, but that’s not all of it.

Steve _also_ hates sitting around when he could be down on the ground punching someone — taking care of business. Either way, Steve would rather be punching than skulking, and he sighs impatiently every so often to let Natasha know that.

So when his phone vibrates, it’s a welcome distraction. He fishes it out of his pocket, shielding the screen from the sun with one hand.

“Really, Rogers,” Natasha intones, in her very best _Disappointed Teacher_ voice. “Phone on at work? I thought you were a professional.”

“It could be an emergency.” Steve says defensively. “It’s from Bucky— he might need me.”

“You know he’s an adult, don’t you?” Natasha asks him, green eyes flicking over to him for a second, amusement curling in her lips before she looks back to their target again.

Steve sticks his tongue out at her, and opens the message. It's a picture, which probably means it's just a photo of the cat doing something stupid, or of Bucky’s lunch, but then Steve gets a proper look at it, and almost drops his phone off of their perch in surprise.

While he doesn't send his phone and its explicit content tumbling onto the head of some innocent New Yorker, it does clatter down onto the concrete, where it bounces once and then lands face up, the picture on display for Natasha. And Natasha, well known for her stoicism, does seem pretty surprised by Steve's reaction, emerald eyes flicking over to him and an eyebrow quriking before she sees the screen - and then she begins to smirk, and if Steve wasn't blushing before, he's _definitely_ blushing now.

"Sexting at work?" She tuts, and Steve hates the stupid curve to her lips. Smug asshole. " _Wow_ ,” She draws the sound out, and Steve hates her even more. “I might have to call HR about this. I didn't expect that from you, Rogers, but maybe I should have known. It's always the quiet ones."

"I'm not quiet." Steve mutters, snatching his phone off the ground and blinking rapidly.

To his right, Natasha's smirk worsens. "Can Barnes confirm that?"

Steve chokes on his spit and looks back down at the phone, though it doesn't turn out to be much better.

It's not that he doesn't want the photo, it's just that the timing is a little off. Had he been in a meeting, that would have been the _perfect_ time. Sixty stories up, huddled against the edge of the roof with Natasha - _not_ the best time.

The thing is, he really wants to study the photo. He already is, as slyly as he can -  though he's minimised it, as if that's going to make it any better. He used to draw Bucky back in the day, character studies, and there were a few nights - not many, though Bucky offered plenty - when Bucky would stretch out naked over the couch, lounging like some kind of greek god resting on Mount Olympus, and Steve's mouth would go dry as he drew him.

This is... this is like that, but worse. Worse in the best way. Steve's never been great with words, unless it was putting together a plan of attack, so he can't quite describe it the way he wants to. He can’t put what he’s feeling into words. But the photograph is better than anything Steve could have drawn; the bright scarlet of the robe he’s wearing, the sharpness of his jaw as he tilts his head just a little, and that look in his eyes - it's amazing, almost like Bucky is right in front of him, close enough to touch. That look of smug mirth, like he knows what he's doing to Steve and he's delighted by it, it sends a tingle up Steve's spine. The cat sort of detracts from the whole thing a little, but Bucky's hard cock held loosely in one fist is enough to get him to forget about it for a moment.

_Had a dream about you_ , the caption reads. Steve can guess what kind. 

And now is really not the time to be thinking about it, and his cheeks go from salmon to coral as he realises his pants feel just a little tighter, a little more uncomfortable. 

"Rogers," Natasha says, and Steve can hear the neutrality in her tone, the careful blankness of it. She doesn't look at him, and Steve knows that's deliberate too. "Steven. I'd really appreciate it if you jerked off to your boyfriend _after_ our stakeout."

Steve makes a strangled noise in response, and looks down at his phone again. _Jesus Christ, Bucky_ , he sends back, because that's pretty much the only verbal thought he currently has, before he slips his phone back into his pocket and blinks, trying to clear the image from his brain. 

 

~*~

 

It doesn't work. Steve thinks about that photograph roughly every thirty seconds for the next six hours, until Natasha determines that the secret lair isn't a secret lair at all, or if it is there's no one currently in it, and she sends him home with a judgmental smirk and a nod towards the door. 

Steve doesn't argue with her. He hates stake outs to begin with, and he should probably go have a chat with Bucky about being appropriate over the internet.

The tv is blaring _Keeping Up With the Kardashians_ when he gets inside, shrugging out of his jacket and kicking off his boots, and he finds Bucky on the sofa, eating a bowl of cereal. He looks at Steve, and the grin he gives him is equal parts knowing and giddy. 

"Bucky." Steve says. The grin grows wider. "What--"

"Sexting, Steve. All the kids are doing it. Well not the kids, you know what I mean, the _millennials_ , the 20 somethings, we're modern guys you and me--"

"I almost threw my phone off an apartment complex." Steve interrupts. "Natasha saw your dick."

Bucky's smile slowly begins to fade, uncertainty creeping into his eyes and Steve's stomach swoops. "You didn't like it." He says, blinking once. He looks a little hurt as his gaze flicks away from Steve, unfocusing just a little as his brow furrows, and Steve is good at putting his foot in things, but he really fucking did it this time.

"Buck, no," He shakes his head, moving to sit in front of him, perched on the coffee table. He maneuvers the bowl out of Bucky's hands so he can take a hold of them, tilting his head to meet Bucky's hundred yard stare. "I-- I _loved_ it. Don't-- jesus, how couldn't I have? You--"

He blushes again as the picture pops into his head again, which even without a photographic memory he's pretty sure he would be able to recall pixel by pixel by now, and he bites his lip. "You looked... There aren't words for how hot you looked. Okay?"

Bucky's gaze meets Steve's fleetingly, the barest hint of a smile at the corners of his lips. Steel grey eyes focus on their joined hands, so Steve moves to tuck Bucky's hair behind his ear, fingertips brushing his temple. "And if I had been anywhere else... well, if I had been anywhere else, I would have had a whole other, much messier problem to deal with."

_That_ draws a proper smile out of Bucky, a soft huff that's close to a laugh, and finally he looks up. Steve smiles at him, knowing he's still blushing - he's not sure he's stopped all afternoon. 

"Where were you?" Bucky asks, his eyes narrowing just a touch.

"I was on a stake out." Steve says. "On a roof. With Natasha."

Bucky snorts, breaking into a grin that settles the worry gnawing at Steve's stomach. "Bet she had somethin' to say about that."

"She asked me very politely not to jerk off  in front of her, and then I almost threw myself off the roof." Steve nods, breaking into a smile of his own when Bucky starts to laugh. Seeing Bucky laugh always makes his chest feel funny, almost fizzy, like his heart's gone and popped a bottle of champagne. It's something to celebrate, that's for sure. 

"Why didn't you?" Bucky grins. "You throw yourself off of things all the time."

"Well, I didn't have the shield," Steve points out - his days of throwing himself off/out of things at will are (almost) over. "But mostly cause I wanted to come home and see you."

He drops his tone at the end, voice lowering and Bucky catches it immediately, pupils dilating, breath catching, the look in his eyes screaming want.. He's still wearing the robe he'd taken the selfie in, his hair still mussed - Steve reaches out with one hand to tilt his jaw carefully, the same angle in the photo, and he takes a deep breath. 

"'s even better in person." He murmurs, leaning forward to catch Bucky's lips in a hard, harsh kiss. Bucky pulls Steve off of the coffee table and onto the couch so he can climb into his lap, knees bracketing Steve's hips as they kiss. 

"But the photo was pretty hot, right?" Bucky asks him, mismatched hands framing Steve's face as he kisses down Steve's neck, using his thumbs to push his chin back just a little. 

"Hottest thing I've ever seen, sweetheart." Steve assures him, hands going to Bucky's hips and squeezing just a little. "You gonna tell me about that dream you had?"

"How about I show you?" Bucky grins, pressing his hips down so he can grin against Steve's lap, the friction against him, the memory of the photo, and the wicked smile on Bucky's face making Steve half hard already. 

Bucky lifts his shirt up and off, tossing it back behind the couch, producing a very startled yowl and a hiss which Steve will assume was a peacefully sleeping Dumpster being disturbed by a cotton projectile, but never mind. Steve's a little too preoccupied to be thinking about animal welfare right now. Bucky runs fingertips down his chest, over his abdomen, and Steve's muscles twitch beneath his fingers. Bucky goes to undo the tie on his robe, but Steve stills his hands, meeting Bucky's curious gaze as he looks up.

"Keep it on." He says, voice already thick and low like it gets when he's _really_ turned on, and Bucky takes a short, sharp inhale before he leans down to kiss Steve hard enough to bruise.

"I fucking love you." He says against Steve's lips, wrestling with his belt buckle before he manages to pull it loose and get his hand down Steve's pants.

Steve laughs softly before gasping, pressing his hips up into Bucky's hand as he pulls him in for another kiss, teeth clicking in his eagerness. They manage to get completely naked without moving too far, Steve cradling Bucky against him as he leans forward to grab the lube out of the coffee table. Bucky pushes his nose into the crook of Steve's neck as he does, a quiet moment in the midst of their heavy breathing and eager hands, and Steve didn't say it back (he knows he doesn't need to), but he fucking loves Bucky too. 

He urges Bucky up onto his knees, having to crane his neck to kiss him as he presses one slick finger into him, and then a second, pushing them deeper until he can rub against Bucky's prostate. He knows when he's found it, Bucky's hips jerking forward, hands flying to grip the back of the couch as he moans wantonly, forehead resting on Steve's shoulder. 

Steve doesn't work him open too much; he's been waiting for this all fucking afternoon, and he knows Bucky likes it when it burns a little. He guides him down onto his cock with slick but careful hands, moaning into Bucky's mouth until he's fully seated on Steve's lap, knees spread wide to take Steve's cock as deeply as he can. They sit like that for a moment, their foreheads pressed together and their breath mingling, another moment of quiet.

Bucky moves slowly, tongue darting over his dry lips as he lifts himself up an inch and then back down, a little further each time until he's bouncing in Steve's lap, his hands on Steve's shoulders leaving finger-shaped bruises on his pale skin. Steve wishes the bruises would last longer; he wishes Bucky's marks would linger for days, like they used to, but he'll take whatever he can get. 

He growls low in his throat, because it isn't enough - Bucky with his hair falling in his face as he rises and falls, the robe slipping down his shoulders to reveal flushed, sweat-soaked skin, it's the best image Steve's ever seen but he wants more, ad he knows Bucky does too. He twists and pushes Bucky onto his back, the two of them moaning when the position pushes Steve deeper into him, and Bucky looks even better now, one hand over his head to grip the arm of the couch as Steve pounds into him, teeth skirting over his jaw and down his neck.

"Fuck, 's good, Steve, so good, fuck," Bucky slurs, arching his back and all but shouting when the angle pushes Steve's cock against his prostate. Steve slips an arm under his back, making him hold the position until he can see the tears in Bucky's eyes, his jaw falling open as Steve fucks him closer and closer to his climax.

"Come for me, Buck-- come on, sweetheart," Steve coaxes, kissing Bucky's throat as he tilts his head back, moaning long and loud. He knows he's close, getting even closer with the way Bucky writhes beneath him, but Steve wants Bucky to get there first, wants to watch him, to feel him.

"Fuck-- Steve--" Bucky pants, leaning up to give him a sloppy kiss as Steve moving his arm from underneath Bucky to curl his fist loosely around Bucky's cock, the barest of friction as he fucks into him, but it's enough. Bucky comes with a rasping shout, his hole fluttering around Steve's cock until it tips him over the edge too, their hips pressed tight together as he comes inside Bucky, filling him with his release.

They pant together, Steve holding himself up over Bucky to keep from crushing him, and after a moment Steve presses a soft, sweet kiss to his lips, smiling when he feels Bucky sigh softly.

"That was nothing like my dream." Bucky complains, and Steve gives a startled laugh in response. He rocks them backwards until he’s sitting, still snugly inside Bucky as he pulls him in, ignoring the mess that smears across both their stomachs. 

"Ok, ok,” He soothes, peppering Bucky’s face with soft kisses. “I’ll try to be patient next time and let you show me." Steve grins, his hand slipping under the robe to rub against the small of Bucky's back, his skin slippery with a sheen of sweat. 

"'n a minute," Bucky mutters, slumping against Steve. Steve's just happy to hold him, hand rubbing small circles into his skin as they sit together, peaceful for a moment.

 

~*~

 

Dumpster's knocked over the shield again by the time Steve gets out of the shower, and Bucky frowns at it. They should probably do something with it - or Steve should take it to work, because he's a reckless idiot with little-to-no self-preservation instinct and the shield protects him just a little bit - but Steve seems happy to let it sit against the wall by the bed, so Bucky puts it back in place before he sits up, smiling when Steve presses a kiss to the top of his head.

"So," Steve says, lying down next to Bucky at the end of the bed, his feet tucked up under the pillows. "We need to talk about that thing earlier." He continue after a moment, looking over at Bucky.

Bucky shifts from where he's lying on his front, fingers dangling over the edge to play with the kitten, and tucks himself into Steve's side, head resting on his chest. "About the sex?"

"Don't play dumb." Steve chastises him.

"I'm not playing." Bucky retorts. It's worth a little self-deprecating humour for the way Steve laughs, his arm curling around Bucky's back.

"Don't have to tell me that," He says, earning the pinch to his ribs that Bucky retaliates with. "I mean the photo."

"It's called a sext, Steve." Bucky yawns. "Gotta learn the lingo."

"And you gotta learn to text me first, Buck," Steve says softly. He's using that Captain America voice that he still puts on sometimes, when something's important but he's trying not to be too stern. It's the voice he used to use for those horrific public service announcements; pretty appropriate for right now, then. 

"But where's the fun if you know it's coming?" Bucky asks him, shifting to look up at him. "It's the surprise that makes it fun."

"If it's a picture of you, looking like that?" Steve arches his eyebrows. "I could have three weeks notice, Buck, it'd still be fun." His fingers twitch against Bucky’s back. “And sexy as fuck.”

Bucky gets a weird flippy floppy feeling in his stomach, and he knows he looks a little dopey as he smiles at Steve. 

"But just check that I'm not, y'know. Sixty stories up next to the Black Widow." 

Bucky snorts softly, but he smiles a little. Steve isn't telling him _not_ to send him racy photos, so he supposes he can get on board with that. Steve's always been one for rules, so long as he's the one making them. 

"Fine. You'll get a maximum thirty second warning." Bucky says. Steve rolls his eyes, but he shifts so that he can kiss Bucky, so he can’t be too mad about it.

"Can I just ask one thing?" Steve asks, settling back down on the bed. Bucky just looks at him, expectant, so he continues, "Why's it so important to you?"

Bucky shrugs a shoulder. "I dunno." He says, but Steve gives him a skeptical look. Bucky sighs softly. Truthfully, he hasn't really thought about why - mostly because it was hot, because it made _him_ feel incredibly hot. It made him feel like he was something desirable; positive body image -thanks, Professional Sam- is something he's had to learn after freeing himself from HYDRA, but it's still nice to find new ways to feel as sexy as Steve always says he is. Sam would probably say it's something to do with their shared past growing up in the Depression, and now needing to keep up to date and make the most of opportunities that he and Steve never had before but are available now. Maybe that's true too, to some extent. 

"It made me feel good." Bucky tells him, meeting Steve's clear blue gaze. He isn't looking for anything from Bucky, isn't expecting anything of him. He's just listening, and Bucky loves him for it. "I read about it, I wanted to try it... I've got the means to, so why not? The kids are up to some strange shit nowadays, Steve. Courting ain't what it used to be."

"Dating." Steve says, and Bucky grins at him. "So there's no need for me to go and call Sam and make sure you're not keeping anything from me?" He asks, tapping one gentle finger to the spot between Bucky's eyes.

"I wouldn’t do that to you; you wouldn't do that to me." Bucky says, and Steve makes a soft _hmph_. They know each other too well. "I love you, Steve. And for that reason, I'd like to send you photos of my dick whenever the feeling takes me."

Steve's resulting laugh is like music to Bucky's ears; it always is, it's Bucky's favourite sound, his smile the warmest thing Bucky's ever experienced. Steve looks up at him, running a hand through Bucky's hair. "I love you." He says, all soft and sweet - and how could Bucky not kiss him? 

It's soft, maybe even a little chaste; it doesn't need to be anything else. "And I'd love to be able to see photos of your dick whenever the feeling takes you." Steve adds, and Bucky grins down at him. He goes to kiss him again, but Steve presses a finger to his lips, holding him in place. "With a minimum thirty second warning."

"Minimum thirty second warning." Bucky says agreeably, nipping at Steve's finger till he gets the message and moves it aside, letting Bucky kiss him slow and soft and sweet, still smiling playfully as their lips meet.

 

~*~

 

Steve is in a meeting when his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he doesn't hesitate to check it, glancing at it under the table.

**Bucky** : Incoming.

Steve slips it back into his pocket, and clears his throat. "Excuse me, I need to take this," He says to the agent at the head of the table, slipping out of the room as discreetly as he can, deliberately ignoring Natasha's pointed smirk.

His phone buzzes again in his pocket, and Steve has to hide a grin as he heads into the bathroom, making sure the door is locked securely behind him.


End file.
